Blood Runs Cold
by Yuri Akigawa
Summary: Naima didn't think twice about her job. That is until she had a run in with Matt & Mello. How do they plan on using her, or will she find a way to make the best out of this situation?
1. Chapter 1: Chance Encounters

The first chapter of "Blood Runs Cold." I do not own Death Note nor do I own any of its characters. But I do own Naima Kurosugo, and other things that of my own creation, of course...

**Death**

_As defined by the North America English Encarta Dictionary:_

_a) The act of dying; the end of life; the total and permanent cessation of all the vital functions of an organism_

_b) Extinction; destruction_

_c) Bloodshed or murder_

_d) Image of death: a personification of death usually represented as a ghostly or of skeleton holding a scythe._

All of these definitions seem correct, no? Except for the last one, up until now, that definition has stayed the same. Everyone's image of death was that of the Grim Reaper. When it was your time to go, he would appear to you. An unsettling air about him, chilling your every fiber right down to the bone; his black cloak; shielding his skeletal face from those he was to reap, and his silver scythe, perhaps covered in blood, depending on your depiction of him. But as I said earlier, this representation of death is no longer what it has been before. The new vision of death is that of the underhanded murderer named Kira.

Kira is justice to some, the icon of fear to others. But in any sense, to me he's just another immoral criminal. He goes off on his own judgment, trying to be god. How can any person in their right mind believe that, that was justice? This brings me to the point in time we are in right now. A bleak, desolate world, sitting there, right outside my window. It takes all the energy in my body to heave myself off my bed and to the window. What was the point of getting up every morning? If the only thing to look forward to was fearful men, hoping to be forgiven for their crimes, and dim-witted Kira supporters, walking the streets of Japan. But today I have a job to do.

My name is Naima Kurosugo. I'm a hired contract killer, or assassin for you simple folk. Now, you are probably asking yourself, how I can hate Kira so much for killing others when I, myself, am a murderer. A bit hypocritical, don't you think? Well the difference between Kira and I is quite simple really. I do not deem myself to be God by passing the right of judgment over others and eradicating them in a cowardly manner. And plus, I like to be more "hands on," if you know what I mean.

I've been lying in bed all afternoon, just waiting for the time to pass so I can leave the cramped apartment I call home. Quickly getting dressed in my "work clothes," I laugh to myself at this; I head out to the quickly darkening streets. I always walk to my destination when I have a job to do, that way they have no way of tracing any sort of car back to me. As I walk, the adrenaline starts kicking in, two years of having this as my job and it still makes adrenaline pulse through my veins.

I make my way into the bad part of town, the side where dirty tricks stand on every corner, and where even the children are corrupt with greed. I come to a stop in front of a dirty looking bar. The sign read "Rusty's", but it looked more like "Crusty's" if you ask me. I walk into the bar; a few dirty bums look up at me, but quickly turn back to their alcoholic drinks. Clearly, the man that I am there for has not yet arrived, so I take a seat at the far side of the bar.

"What'll it be Miss?" The bartender asks me, all the while wiping down the area in front of me with that cliché dirty rag that every bar has.

"Nothing tonight, I'm meeting someone." I reply, a gentle smile balancing on my lips.

"Well, if you need anything, just holler and I'll be right over." He answers back with a friendly wink. I watch as he strolls over to tend to another customer sitting at the bar. Out of the corner of my eye I see something, or, well, someone. It was a blonde haired guy; he's quite young, and wearing all leather. He's staring at me, and isn't even trying to hide it. On any other night I would just approach him, maybe started a conversation. Curiosity usually gets the best of me, but I'm here on business tonight. I'll just have to deal with the staring for the time being. He continues to observe me and takes a bite of what seems to be a bar of chocolate. Just as I'm about get up and say something to him. A drunkard man stumbles through the door.

Time to go to work.

This was the man I was hired to "dispose of." Shimobe Koedaki, charged with the rape and murder of 16-year-old Midori Kodomogawa. He was released, due to "lack of evidence." But it is quite obvious that he did it, and many believe that government bribery was involved. I've been hired by the father to give this man what he deserves. A horrid, and rather painful death.

Koedaki walks over to the bar and quite rudely orders an expensive drink. The bartender quickly gives him his drink, and Koedaki in return throws the money in his face. He then walks over to a dimly lit booth and makes himself comfortable.

Perfect.

I stand from my seat at the bar, and head towards Koedaki's table, passing the leather clad blonde on the way. He smirks as I pass by, as if he knows what is going to happen next. Oh, well, he doesn't look like one to rat; I'll let him enjoy the show. As I get closer to Koedaki's table, I slip on my special "work gloves."

Oh how much fun this will be.

"Mind if I join you?" I ask him in a slightly playful voice.

"A woman as beautiful as yourself? Not at all." As I take a seat across from him, I feel his greedy eyes on me, ogling at me like a hunger-stricken animal. He reeks of Menthols and cheap scotch, it churns my stomach.

But it'll soon be over.

"So sweetie, what's your name?" His voice is so raspy, almost like the skritching of a steel nail carving unknown letters into wood.

"I'm Itsumo, Itsumo Tomogawa."

"Itsumo, huh? Beautiful name. I'm Shimobe Koedaki."

"So I've heard." I spot his drink sitting there right in front of him; just close enough for me to reach.

Too Perfect.

"What exactly was it you heard?" A crooked grin creeps across his face.

"Oh, many, many, wonderful, things." I say, putting extra emphasis on the word "wonderful." I reach my hand over and start circling the rim of his glass with my finger. Little does he know, the "special" gloves I'm wearing, are laced with a toxic amount of potassium cyanide. One of the deadliest poisons available on the market. Once ingested, the victim loses consciousness within fifteen seconds; death follows in mere minutes from cardiac arrest. Now the all the greedy bastard has to do is take a drink, and I can ditch this joint.

"Well sweet cheeks, lets blow this joint and I'll show you all the "wonderful" things I have to offer." The thought of this man touching me, makes me sick to my stomach.

"Ooh, but first, a toast, for "wonderful" things to come."

It's so close, I can feel it.

"But you don't have a drink to toast me with." Damn! I forgot that small element. Crap, I'll make something up.

"Oh, silly me. Oh well, I don't need a drink in me." I say as I run my finger down the side of his face, and onto his lips. Good, more cyanide in his system. I sit back and watch as he chugs his drink. After finishing it, he slams the glass on the table, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. All that was left to do was wait.

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go." He impatiently asks.

"Just one more thing." I lean in close to him; the smell of whiskey lingers on his breath. I grab his collar, pulling him close, as if to kiss him. Boy was he in for a surprise. As our faces inch closer, his arousal get more and more apparent. I stop an inch away from his face; I look him right in the eyes and whisper in my most seductive voice, "Burn in hell."

I back up, just so I can watch the reaction on his face. He stares at me, his face tainted with the look of disbelief and hatred, but as the seconds pass by, it slowly contorts to that of immense pain. I watch as his eyes slowly roll back in their sockets, bloody foam spills from his mouth.

My work is done.

I calmly stand up, so as to not make a scene. I remove my gloves and dispose of them in a near by trashcan. The body of Koedaki slowly rolls under the table; I don't think he'll be discovered for a while. I pass by the table where the chocolate eating guy was sitting earlier, but he is nowhere in sight. Oh well, I really doubt he went and ratted on me. As I approach the bar I see the bartender take out an envelope. He places it on the bar and I quickly sneak it into my jacket. I take a quick peek just to make sure of its contents. 75k in cash, just like we agreed. It'll keep me living quite comfy for the next few months. The bartender's name; Taro Kodomogawa.

Midori's father.

Quickly I make my way towards the exit, re-pocketing my money along the way. Stepping out into the street, I realize it was quite dark now. Soon the hookers and drug dealers would crawl out from their domiciles and roam the dirty streets, looking for a way to make some quick cash. I decide to head for home; I'll enjoy my money tomorrow. As I begin walking down the street, I hear footsteps behind me. I think nothing of it; I mean I have a knife, a gun, and more chloroform hidden on me. What? You think that I would even leave my house and head into a corrupt city without any of this? Yea, right. It's nothing I can't handle. I run the days events in my head, just to make sure I hadn't left any detail out, when something suddenly pulls me into a dark alley and slams me face first into a brick wall.

"What the-" I attempt to yell, but a gloved hand quickly covers my mouth.

"Oh no you don't." I feel the assailant grab both of my arms and apparently zip-tie them. "I saw the little move you pulled back there. Quite sneaky. "I attempt to wriggle out of his grip, but to no avail.

"Well, I didn't want to resort to this, but if you won't go quietly… Matt come here." My face is still pushed up against the wall, and it's quite dark, I can't see whom my assailants are, but quickly one of their identities is made clear. The air lingers of a distinctive smell.

Chocolate.

It's the leather-clad blonde from inside the bar. But what does he want with me? My time to contemplate the various reasons, is cut short when a rag, damp with a sweet smelling liquid is placed over my nose and mouth. I feel very tired suddenly. My eyes feel heavy, and my legs give out, letting me fall to the ground. Slowly I fall out of consciousness, leaving the shadows of the waking world and entering a completely new kind of darkness all together.

Damn it chloroform.


	2. Chapter 2: Guns & Handcuffs

I awaken in a groggy state, who knows how many hours later. It takes me a few seconds to remember, I didn't make it home last night. I attempt to pull my arms apart once again, but they are still zip-tied together, tight as always. I push myself up with my elbows, in order to get a better view of the room I'm currently being held captive in.

It's a fairly big room, but its cram packed with multiple TV's & gaming systems, surveillance equipment, and other miscellaneous electronic devices. Various boxes of cigarettes litter the floor, and the smell of them is thick in the air. As I fidget around to get a better view of things, the floor shifts beneath my weight. But upon closer inspection of this "floor" I realize it's no floor, but a bed. Well, it's a mattress on the floor, but a bed none the less. Only one thought is going through my mind at this moment, "WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING ON A BED?!"

I start scooting towards the wall, my own mind placing horrible images in my head. When I hear an amused chuckle come from the corner of the room.

"Well, well, well, look who finally woke up. Little Miss Naima's been doing some questionable deeds, and now they've caught up with her. Oh, whatever, will she do?" This isn't the blonde I saw at the bar yesterday. Actually this guy looks nothing like him. He's dressed in a strange combination of clothing. A striped long sleeve, black and white shirt, layered with a tan suede vest adorned with white fur. His hair is the most intriguing color of red I have ever seen. Over his eyes, he bears white goggles with orange lenses, and a lit cigarette sits in between his lips.

"Who the hell are you and how do you know my name?" I ask, a slightly worried tone, underlying my normal voice. The guy strides over and looks down at me.

"I go by the name Matt," he reaches his hand out as if to shake mine. Ha, as if he doesn't know that they're tied up. I glare at him, and he quickly takes it back. "Anyways, we've been watching you, you know." From a nearby table, he picks up what looks to be a file containing various photos, papers, and important documents. He takes out some papers, and begins to read from them.

"Naima Kurosugo. Date of Birth; March 24, 1990. Currently age nineteen. Blood type; A, height; 5' 4", weight; 103lbs. Currently resides at the Sakura Apartment Complex, apartment #37. No roommates." He continues to list off many details from what I thought was my "private life."His voice slowly fades; how does he know this stuff. I don't keep close contact with anyone. But that really isn't that important at the moment. I need to figure out how I'm going to get out of this situation. Who knows what this guy plans on doing with me. Suddenly, I remember all the weapons I have concealed on my body, with any luck, they haven't found them yet. I look over at this guy, Matt; he must have been the other guy my assailant was talking to last night. I see that he's still speaking, reading off of the paper boredly, and not even paying any attention to me. I take this as my chance to check my back pocket. Oh, good! My switchblade is still there, just as it should be. I quickly take it out and use it to cut the zip-tie off my wrists. The sudden snapping sound captures Matt's attention. He eyes me suspiciously, taking a puff from his cigarette. But after a few seconds he continues talking.

"Well, anyways, the point is that, we know everything about you. Where you live, your family history, right down to the fact that," he looks down at the paper, "On April 13, 1996, you fell off your bike and scraped your knee. Your mother promptly took you to the family doctor, a Dr. Tamamoya, who then bandaged up your knee and sent you on your way." How the hell does he know all of this? Even _I_ didn't remember that until just now. It's not like he's been stalking me since I was little. He doesn't look any older than I do. And suddenly, as if he can also read my every thought, he answers my mental question, right on cue.

"Amazing how easily accessible information is on the internet these days, isn't it?" He says with a devious smile. Bastard. The anger begins to build inside of me, my veins pulsing with pure hatred of this man. I glare at him, but he just looks back at me, a smirk playing on his lips. He gathers up all the papers, and turns to put them back into the file. The perfect chance to make my move. Within the time 

frame of just a few seconds, I reach into the hidden holster sewn into the back of my jacket, and grab my handgun. As Matt turns around to face me again, I point the gun right in face.

"Whoa now," he says with a light hearted grin, playfully putting his hands in the air, "There's no need to get violent." That disgraceful son of a bitch, he's mocking me! He doesn't think I'll really do it. Oh how I'd love to wipe that smirk off his face.

"Now listen here, you despicable, good for nothing, low-life. You are going to get me out of here, and you will never, _ever _come near me ever again, or so help me I will blow your fucking brains out."

"Ha ha, no can do princess. And I'd put that gun away if I were you." Ugh, this guy is so infuriating; does he really think that I'm going to listen to him?

"Oh really?! Why would I do that?!" Matt looks to my right and gives a slight nod. And before I can even turn my head, I hear a "click." Obviously the cocking of a gun, pointed at my head. Out of sheer curiosity, I turn, and find myself looking down the barrel of a 9mm semi-automatic pistol. And on the other side, holding this weapon is the leather clad blonde.

"Matt," he says, still keeping an eye on me, "Grab her gun."

"Right-o, Mell-o." Upon hearing his name "Mello," I know that it is an assumed name. But this play on his "name" and rhyming it with another word obviously doesn't amuse him, seeing as he gives Matt a death glare. Matt just scoffs and rolls his eyes, he then does as instructed.

"Turn around." Mello demands of me. A bit hesitantly, I turn around, not having a single clue to what was going to happen next. Suddenly I feel cold hard steel being slapped on my wrists. Damn it, the bastard handcuffed me. He turns me around and roughly grabs me by the elbow.

"Come on," he says while tugging me along. He leads me out of the room into what I assume is the living room. Although it isn't as cluttered as the previous room, it's still messy. Half eaten chocolate bars and chocolate bar wrappers litter the room, along with cigarette butts and take out boxes. He sits me down on the couch and he and Matt stand right in front of me, looking down at me, just observing me. After a few moments of silence, I decide to speak out.

"Why did you bring me here? What do you want from me? If its money that you want, fine, just say so. But what's with all the information on me. Are you stalking me, because if you-"

"Quiet!" Mello snaps at me, and like I scolded child I quickly shut my mouth. He and Matt take a seat in some nearby recliners. Mello grabs a chocolate bar, unwraps it, and takes a bite. Matt pulls out a portable gaming system and turns it out, fully engulfing him self in his game. "We didn't bring you here to get money from you." Mello states, "Nor do we plan on harming you in any way, that is, if you comply."

"Comply?" I ask, not quite sure as to what he's talking about.

"Remember Naima we know everything about you. Don't forget that. We know every crime that you've committed. Like your first attempted murder on the previous Don of the American Mafia, through your years of working for Fritzy Malone, right down to the "little" job you did for Louie Streets yesterday. If we really wanted to, we could turn you into the authorities at any moment. Of course if you don't want to go to jail, we do have the necessary means of "getting rid of you." Although I hope we don't have to resort to that."

"So, what's your point? You want me to do some jobs for you? Because if that's it, you could have just hired me you know?" I reply irritably. He rolls his eyes and takes another bite of his chocolate; Matt is still deeply engulfed in his gaming world.

"You're not stupid Naima; both you and I know that," he says as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You've never been caught have you? That's why we are going to make good use of your abilities. You are going to help us catch that _bastard _Kira." At the mention of the name "Kira," my eyes widen. Memories of my early teen years flood back into my mind. My father, that's why I lost my father. Kira. Kira killed my innocent father, only a year after the murder of my mother. The real murderer is probably still out there, walking the streets, like an innocent man. It makes me sick.

"I'll do it." I reply, looking up at Mello. He smirks to my response; he leans back in his recliner, looking satisfied.

"Good. I knew you would. Matt, un-handcuff her."

"Yea, I'll do it in a second; I'm just about to beat the Dragon King on level ni-"

"Matt, now!" Mello commands, throwing the key at him. Matt sighs heavily, pauses his game, and heaves himself off the chair. He walks over and sticks the key in the lock, he unlocks one hand, but before he unlocks the other one, I feel something on my bottom, something like a hand. What the hell is this guy thinking fondling me?! I take my freed hand and punch him right in the gut. He keels over grabbing his stomach, and falls on the floor, as I stand up in defense.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, grabbing my ass like that?!" I shriek. Mello just sits there calmly, observing things, one eyebrow raised. Obviously this is amusing to him. A wheezing Matt slowly looks up at me, probably worried that I'll hit him again.

"You had this in your back pocket you know…" he gasps, holding up my switchblade.

"Oh," I awkwardly reply. "Erm… sorry. But wait a second, why did you have to reach into my back pocket to get it?" Matt pulls himself together and props himself up on his elbows. He gets a mischievous grin on his face and looks me right in the eyes.

"Hey, can't a guy cop a feel every once in a while?" Annoyance builds up inside me. Clearly, he senses it, because he quickly stands and runs back into the room we were in. I assume that's his bedroom.

"I'm going to kill you, you son of a-" I abruptly stop yelling, as I feel someone grab a gentle hold of my arm. I turn around to see Mello, looking down at me, his teal colored eyes looking into my dark brown eyes. After a few seconds I hear a distinct "click." The light pressure on my wrist from the handcuffs is gone. He holds on to my arm a few more seconds, not saying a word. He then lets go and turns around, and starts to walk away, probably heading towards his room, but half way there he stops in his tracks.

"There's a spare bedroom across the hall from Matt's room. We've taken the liberty of gathering your clothes and some of your belonging s and putting them in there. That is where you will be staying," he pauses. "That is, unless you prefer to sleep in the living room." I can't see his face, but I know that he's smirking, to himself. "Oh and don't try to leave. I'll know it, if you do." And with that he walks into his room, leaving me to get acquainted with the house and my own thoughts.

Judging by the light coming in thought the windows, I assume that is sometime in the late evening. I look down at my watch; 10:47, my assumption is correct. I guess the only thing to do now it to, go and check out where I'll be staying from now until who knows when. I walk to the door across from Matt's. I can hear loud machine guns and sounds of grenades, coming from within his room, probably playing some first shooter game. I turn and face the door to "my room." I take a deep breath before opening the door and walking in, who knows what mayhem awaits me inside.

The room is about the same size as Matt's. It has its own bathroom, and a "real" bed, unlike Matt's whole mattress-on-the-floor deal. On each side of the bed is a window with the blinds drawn, a night stand holds my wallet, some envelopes of money from past jobs, and a box of random items from my apartment. More than likely they were just grabbed off a random counter seeing as there is a slightly browned banana in there and a half-used roll of paper towels. Of course the boxes in which they brought my stuff aren't unpacked, so I start taking my stuff out of the boxes. First if a box of shirts, all just thrown in there of course, and then a box with jeans, shorts and pajama bottoms. Then I come to the final box, yes I know I have a small amount of clothes, and this box is filled of course with my underwear, but the strange thing is that these are the only articles of clothing that are actually _folded, _oddly enough. But I guess after seeing Matt's personality I can assume who did this. An image of Matt explaining to Mello, "why it is proper etiquette to fold a ladies underwear when gathering them from her apartment without her knowledge," pops into my head and makes me chuckle. After putting away 

all my clothes, and grabbing some pj's, I go and check out the bathroom. It's a decent size, but oddly clean for being a guy's house, they probably never come in here. Out of paranoia, I make sure that there are no camera's set up, before taking a shower. After I get out of the shower and get dressed, I head out to the room, and sit on the bed. I turn on the lamp, and look around at my new surroundings. I lay back on the bed, hands behind my head, thinking about absolutely nothing, just letting my mind be blank and rest for a while. But after not even two minutes of that, questions start seeping into my brain.

Why exactly am I staying here? It's not like I'm scared of them. I could have tried to escape by now, but why haven't I? It's like I'm here willingly. Subconsciously, do I think that this is the right thing? Is this my destiny? And if so, then why? Why these guys? And why me, out of all the underground contract killers in Japan, why did they choose me?

I decide to push all those questions away, and try to get a decent nights sleep. I reach over and turn off the lamp. As the room is quickly engulfed in darkness, I move around trying to find a comfortable position. A little bit of the moonlight leaks in through the blinds, and creates a line of light across the carpeted floor to the wall. My eyes begin to droop, as I slowly let the sleep overcome me, and lead me into a peaceful dreamless slumber.


End file.
